I eat strange stuff
I eat strange stuff. It’s usually embarrassing to admit what I had for dinner the previous night (sauerkraut /refried bean/yogurt quesadillas with hot curry sauce), so I don’t talk about it. It `s not some nonconformity issue. It just tastes good to me and I get to use all the crap in my refrigerator before it rots. At what point did “refined” taste become cool? Evolution would seem to favor a gutter like me that could eat anything and enjoy it. At some point taste comes in, so that a gutter like me doesn’t eat a heavily rotten animal cadaver, but is the ability to eat anything a like a high tolerance for pain?
Take ordering a pizza. If you have more than three people deciding, it’s a mess. Someone’s a vegetarian and doesn’t want sausage, someone hates olives, someone’s allergic to onions, someone can’t stand spicy food. Nobody wants a 1/2 and 1/2 because they always screw it up. So you’re stuck with the lowest common denominator of pizza: cheese. It’s like network TV – bland enough to somewhat appeal to everyone, but still not that great.
It’s like blood types. I can’t remember which is which, but I think blood type O can only get blood from other type O’s. AB can get blood from everyone (if I have this backwards I’d appreciate a correction). Who has a better chance of survival after a gristly car wreck? The AB. Eating is like that too. Of course, when it comes to survival, we’ll all eat just about anything, but when you’re poor, or living on the edge of being poor (like me), the people happy with eating Ramens and tunafish, or baloney and penutbutter sandwiches will survive will their morale and good spirits in tact, while the picky eater will slowly starve to death.
OK, fine. I’ve completely failed to make a case for my disgusting taste. I like good food too, I just don’t really mind eating disgusting stuff. Shit, nevermind.
This entire writing is an intro to my next confession: “How To Justify Being A Completely Gross Human Being By Acting Like Your Sickness Is A Benefit”.